


I Kinda Need A Hero (Is It You?)

by thelilacfield



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Episode: s01e04 - Let's Get To Snooping, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Legal Drama, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are very few things Connor is scared of. Jail, of course - he's already the black sheep of his family without becoming an arrested law student. And commitment - being tied down to a single person. Falling in love. Now he finds himself facing both fears at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Kinda Need A Hero (Is It You?)

**A/N:** Connor/Oliver; Headcanon continuation from 1x04; Title from _Nightingale_  by Demi Lovato

* * *

 

**i.**

Staggers into the apartment. Shakes. Sips water. Stammers out vague words. Shudders. Stalls in his breathing, coughing and clutching at the cushions. Stumbles over an explanation, an apology, a desperate, jerky  _I had to see you_. Stares into space until a blanket is laid over him and unsaid words hang heavily on the air between them. Sleeps fitfully, dreaming about blood and crazed laughter and flashing blue lights and locked cells and strains of the wedding march echoing as a jury declares him guilty.

The clink of a spoon against china, the hum of the coffee maker, the crackling of bacon frying - it's a comforting melody that greets him as he wakes, and for a moment this could almost be a normal day. But he remembers, and he starts to shake again, teeth chattering, until the soothing voice softly says, "It's okay. You're safe here."

Sitting up, still clutching the blanket around his shuddering shoulders, Connor manages a small smile, weak as the sunlight haloing the edges of the blinds pulled firmly down over the windows. "I thought you might call the cops," he says, and Oliver frowns at him, offering a cup of coffee. The cup rattles against the saucer in Connor's shaking fingers, and Oliver quickly withdraws it and sets it on the table.

"Why would I do that?" he asks softly, moving closer. The proximity is warm, comforting, but that small space between their bodies is a void, a black hole, screaming out their history. "The last time we saw each other wasn't the...friendliest, I know. But I don't want to see you arrested." He starts to reach for Connor, but seems to think better of it and stands up. "Do you want something to eat?"

"I don't think I can stomach breakfast right now." Connor says quietly. Even the smell of the coffee makes his stomach quiver with nausea, when all he can think about is the stench of burning flesh and Michaela screaming and crying and the damp dirty ground and the grasping, crawling panic.

"Your phone's been ringing all night, by the way," Oliver says, and Connor grabs for it, ignoring the warning that flashes up telling him to charge it.  **17 unread texts. 8 missed calls.**

It springs to life in his hand, and the moment he taps the screen he can hear Michaela voice, harsh from crying and screaming and high with panic. "Connor, thank God. Look, we all have to talk. My place in the next twenty minutes. Please, I'm  _begging_  you."

He promises he'll be there, and quickly stands up, rearranging his crumpled clothing. "I have to go," he says, and tries to decide whether Oliver looks disappointed, relieved, or some combination of the two. "Michaela is really panicking, she wants everyone to meet up and talk."

"Well, that's good, that you're all being as calm and logical as possible," Oliver says, and Connor thinks about it. Thinks about sitting in the dim hallway with Oliver standing over him, not knowing what to do, choking on his own fear. "And I have to go to work."

Letting the blanket fall, Connor gulps down the coffee even though it burns the roof of his mouth and he can feel it scalding his throat, and tries to smile as he crosses the neat living room to Oliver. "Thank you," he says softly, and lets his eyes fall closed as he leans in for a kiss.

A hand on his chest stops him, and he opens his eyes to Oliver's stern expression. "Don't," he says. "I'm with someone now. It's been almost two months since I kicked you out, you can't expect me to be waiting for you."

After that little piece of information is dropped, Connor can't say another word. He just takes his coat and walks out, running down the stairs instead of taking the elevator so there's no time to think. Because if he does, he'll think about screaming and murder and  _I'm with someone_  and two months ago when he thought he'd be happy and he'll feel this hot lump rise in his throat and the tears start to fall and  _stop stop stop stop_. _  
_

He makes it to Michaela's impressive apartment in ten minutes, probably driving too fast and staring at a road awash with the tears burning his eyes. The tires screech when he stops the car, and he sits alone for five minutes, breathing slowly and dabbing at his eyes, until he can emerge with no trace of the fact that he's been crying. He can't do anything about the stains of a sleepless night beneath his eyes, but doubtlessly everyone else will bear similar scars.

Michaela and Laurel are both already waiting for him. Michaela is anxiously twisting her fingers around the bare skin where her engagement ring rested, her tangled hair pulled into a bun, clad in baggy clothes and a heavy sweater, still shaking. Laurel is wearing the same clothes she was wearing last night, smelling strongly of bonfire smoke and wearing a composed mask. "Where's Wes?" Connor asks quietly, hanging his coat up and taking a seat in the armchair. It occurs to him quickly that this is the first time he's been in this apartment, and he glances around quickly. There are photographs everywhere, so many with Aiden's arm around her waist, or his lips on her cheek, or them kissing in front of beautiful backdrops like dramatic sunsets or rolling golden beaches.  _Aiden_.

Seeing that, the closeness and the love shining in their eyes and the commitment that had a symbol in that shiny ring on Michaela's finger - it makes him jolt with the sudden desperate desire to have that. With someone. With anyone ( _with_   ** _Oliver_**  his traitorous mind whispers). "I text him and asked him to bring coffee," Laurel says, and shocks Connor out of his trance.

"Is coffee really the most important thing at a time like this?" Michaela asks, and she's panicking. Her expression is so frightened, and her entire body is trembling, her fingers curled into her jumped and pulling it closer around her.

"I only slept for two hours and I'm exhausted and I need to  _think_ ," Laurel says, frustration cracking her voice. "I don't know what we're going to do. We have an alibi, but what are we supposed to do about the evidence?"

"I don't know, Laurel, and if you keep talking like that prom queen over here will start crying again," Connor says, and Michaela glares at him. "Please can we all keep quiet until Wes gets here? He has the best handle on the situation and we need someone with a cool head here. I've had a long night and you two are not helping."

Wes takes fifteen more minutes, when all three of them have silently begun to fear that he's bailed on them and escaped with Rebecca. None of them voice it aloud, but the panic is obvious in their wide, glazed eyes, pupils flickering back and forth to the door. When he does arrive, bearing two cardboard trays of coffees, they all fall on him. "I wasn't sure of everyone's order, so I just got a variety," he says, setting them down on the stone coffee table. "You each owe me six dollars, by the way."

They clutch the cups in cold, shaking fingers and warm their hands on the steaming coffee like a fire. A  _bonfire_ , ripe with the smell of hair aflame in the night, and Connor shudders obviously. Finally, when each of them have lifted the second cup, Laurel finally speaks. "Wes, what are we going to  _do_?"

Leaning over to squeeze her shoulder gently, Wes looks around at them and says, "It's going to be fine. We've established an alibi. We've destroyed the evidence. There are very few ways the murder can be traced back to us, and if it is...well, we're law students. We know dozens of people who'll represent us. And there are only five people in the world who know what happened last night."

"Six." Connor speaks without thinking, and they all turn to look at him with expressions of slowly dawning horror.

"Connor, where did you go after you left us last night?" Laurel asks, her jaw clenched and voice brittle, as if she's about to snap and scream at him, a fury with flying hair. "Connor...please tell me you didn't. I'm serious."

"Did you...turn yourself in?" Wes asks, and he seems to be choking on the words, shoulders solidly squared. When Connor shakes his head wordlessly, Wes visibly relaxes.

"I couldn't, I...I was losing it," he finally says, voice small and scared, and they all stare at him in clear, sickening understanding. "I needed someone. I need to be grounded or I thought I might float away and do something completely deranged. So I went to Oliver."

"That IT guy you were sleeping with?" Michaela asks, and Connor glances at her. He forgets, sometimes, that they've reluctantly become friends. She's probably the best friend he's made since arriving here. "I thought you two ended things."

"We did, he slammed a door in my face and I haven't seen him since," Connor says, and he can see Laurel's  _well maybe you deserved it_  expression out of the corner of his eye. "But I just had to be with someone who made me feel safe. I tried to keep it together, but I broke down right in front of his door, and he took me inside. He's so sweet and I just told him everything." Seeing Michaela's face, he quickly adds, "But nothing happened. He told me he's seeing someone new."

"Well, that was stupid," Laurel remarks, almost flippant, and Connor glares at her. "The five of us, we're all directly involved. We all have something to lose if we get caught. What does this guy you've just told our greatest secret have to lose?"

"If he tells the police, he loses me," Connor says haughtily. These three people don't need to know that he's not so sure about Oliver's feelings for him any more. They don't need to know how heartbroken Oliver was when he threw Connor out of his door. They don't need to know that Connor would probably lose a lot more without Oliver than Oliver would without him.

"Didn't you just say that he's in a new relationship?" Wes asks, and Connor just rolls his eyes.

All four of them end up leaving the apartment for coffee, sleepless night hidden by the dark glasses originally found in Michaela's nightstand and worn by all of them. By the time they're each drinking their eighth coffee, their pockets are empty of all but the smallest change and the lack of sleep means nothing. "Connor, you make sure you don't do anything to piss off this guy," Wes says sternly, and Connor shakes his head. "Be his friend. As long as he's on our side, we'll be completely fine. I know we'll get through this."

**ii.**

_"The dismembered body of Professor Sam Keating was found today by police dogs. The body was burned but a DNA test identified it quickly. Keating was, of course, the husband of successful lawyer Professor Annalise Keating, still in the news as the Lila Stangard murder shows no signs of a perpetrator. Now her husband is dead, no doubt she will be the front of an incredibly strong prosecution to send the murderers to prison for life."_

Connor's phone is buzzing incessantly in his pocket, vibrating and tweeting against his thigh, but he ignores it as he stumbles up the stairs, barely able to force his violently shaking fingers into a fist and start pounding on the door. "Oliver! Oliver, please!"

The door cracks open, just a little, and the relief washes over Connor like the warmth of sunlight when Oliver's face comes into view. "This really isn't a good time," he says, wary and apologetic. "It's date night, I haven't really had the chance to be with Daniel all week."

"Didn't you see the news this morning?" Connor asks, and Oliver sighs heavily. "Please let me in." The door shuts, but it doesn't slam, and he hears the slide and rattle of the chain and then Oliver opens it again, standing aside to let him in. Connor can't help but give him a lingering look, notice the effort he's made - neatly-styled hair, shirt the perfect colour to match both his eyes and skin tone, tight jeans that leave very little to the imagine. He's probably just interrupted a sweetly romantic candlelit dinner that would lead into slow and lazy love-making with kissed shoulders and tender whispers and sweet-nothings breathed into sweat-glazed skin. It sends a warm rush of vindictiveness through his veins, knowing that Oliver would let him in and ruin that.

Daniel pushes past him on his way out, barely listening to Oliver's explanation, and Connor turns with a wry, "He seems charming."

"Just shut up," Oliver snaps, and there's such aggression and venom to his words that Connor's mouth snaps shut before another snide comment. "Do you just have some special power that tells you exactly when to come around and screw things up for me? I was going to tell him I  _love_  him, and then you turn up and he storms out. He won't believe that you only slept on the couch for a few hours last time, he knows all about our history! You're ruining the best thing going on in my life!"

Only three words out of the whole rant resonate with Connor, rattling him all the way down to his brittle bones, and he gulps before he weakly whispers, "You...love him?"

"Of course I do," Oliver spits furiously. "Why wouldn't I love him? He approached me in the office like a gentleman and he let me ask him out when I was ready and we've been together for over a month and after our first date he walked me home and kissed me on the doorstep and didn't even ask to come inside. He's perfect and charming and my mom likes him and he's everything I could ever want."

"I've always felt that perfection is grossly overrated," Connor says, and he doesn't miss the smile Oliver cracks as he turns away. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here, but I didn't know where else to go. I panicked, and I can't go to any of them. Michaela is a wreck, Laurel just brushes me off and Wes is wrapped up in trying to keep it all together long enough to keep the spotlight off us. Asher doesn't even know what we did. That just leaves-"

"Me," Oliver finishes for him, and Connor smiles weakly. "It's okay, Connor. If you're here to make sure I won't tell anyone what you told me about that guy's murder, I was never going to. I like you, and I don't want you to go to jail." He smiles, and Connor smiles back, feeling a little lighter, knowing that Oliver's resentment over their break-up is not enough that he wants life-long imprisonment on the cards. "Do you want to talk about it? Maybe there's online evidence...I could get rid of it."

"You would really do that for me?" Connor asks, and Oliver nods. Throwing his arms around Oliver's neck, Connor hugs him tightly, pushing his face into the warm crook of Oliver's neck when those familiar arms wind nervously around him, holding him closer. They sway on the spot, gently, from foot to foot, until Oliver lets him go and grabs the laptop from the table, opening it up and setting it over his thighs.

"There's some leftover Chinese in the fridge if you're hungry," he says gently, and Connor becomes rapidly aware of the gnawing hunger in his stomach. He hears Oliver's laugh when he runs to yank the door open, and turns around to the question, "When was the last time you ate?"

"I...don't remember," Connor says slowly, devouring the remains and snatching a few slices of bread. "I guess...dinner with Michaela and her fiancé two nights ago? I wanted to make amends and Michaela is suddenly best friends with Laurel so I went with her so neither of us would be a third wheel."

"You can't just exist on coffee and chewing gum, Connor," Oliver says sternly. "That's the first order of business in this friendship - I need to get you looking after yourself again. I know your life is stressful, but self-care still needs to be a top priority."

"You sound like every therapist my parents have ever tried to send me to," Connor says quietly, and Oliver grins at him, glasses crooked and smile devastating.

"I did take Psychology for a semester in college," he says. "Come on, sit down. We can order a pizza if you're still hungry, but there will be no coffee or soda. Plain fruit juice so you can actually get a decent night's sleep. You look terrible."

Curling himself onto the couch next to Oliver, pulling the crusts off his bread, Connor is struck by how easily this could be a scene from the life of a real couple. Warm and close and easy, nestled together on the couch and sharing a laptop. If only this wasn't about Oliver hiding any evidence that Connor or his co-workers had anything to do with the murder.

If only the fact that his brittle icy heart is starting to melt around the edges didn't scare him half to death.

**iii.**

Climbing over the piles of people's belongings on the floor, Connor collapses into his seat next to Michaela and smiles when she gives him a little wave, displaying her brand-new engagement ring, almost identical to the one lost in the woods. "Pretty," he says, and she beams at him. "Where can I find a man willing to drop the cash for two extravagant rings in less than a year?"

"You got a new engagement ring?" Asher asks loudly, and both of them roll their eyes. Sometimes Connor looks back at the last month and wonders when exactly he and Michaela became reluctant friends. Perhaps it was when she came to him asking what really happened between him and Aiden because Aiden wouldn't tell her much. Maybe it was when she broke down in his arms about her fears of going to prison and losing her whole life and everything she wanted for her future with Aiden. But, nevertheless, whatever it was, she's quickly become the best friend he's made since moving. "What about that other one? What happened?"

"Nothing," Michaela says coolly, and Connor admires her composure. She's so different from the woman who broke down in hysterical tears in his car that night, calm and detached as she brushes off the question. "Aiden wanted to get me another ring, but I liked the style of the old one so I said I wanted something similar. This is actually a very different design - not that you'd know that."

Affronted, Asher sits back in his seat with a huff, and Michaela winks at Connor as they both settle into their seats for the lesson. Annalise strides in and starts to write on the board, and they both make copious notes - it's so much easier to pay attention now that they're focused like the beam of a flashlight on finding a way to evade the charges that have been placed on their heads. When the hand of the clock prominently proclaims that class is over, Annalise holds up an authoritative hand to stop anyone from leaving and annouces, "A memorial service will be held for my husband at this college on Saturday. You are all welcome to attend."

After he's finished saying goodbye to the friends he'll probably have for life - something about trying to cover their tracks in a murder investigation bonds four people more than drinking together or sharing notes ever could - Connor automatically goes to Oliver's instead of to his own home. His apartment does't feel like home any more - it's cold and dark and lonely. When he goes to Oliver's, he's always greeted with a smile even after a long day of work, and he can curl up on the couch with the blanket that's become his and share select anecdotes and make Oliver laugh and feel the comfort of being with someone he can trust - because while he may like Wes and Michaela and Laurel, he trusts them about as far as he can throw them.

Letting himself into the apartment, he snatches an apple from the fruit bowl and calls out, "Hey, I'm here! You won't believe this completely stupid thing Asher said at lunch today!" But no reply comes, and he starts to worry quickly, picking his way through the apartment and quietly calling, "Oliver?" Finally, he hears sniffling from the bedroom - and a twinge of regret shivers down his spine when he remembers Oliver sitting on that bed, listening to the recording that provided some pretty damning evidence to end their little fling - and opens the door to find Oliver sitting on the bed, surrounded by a halo of crumpled tissues and meeting his gaze with red-laced, tear-glazed eyes. "Oliver, what is it? What happened?"

"Daniel broke up with me," Oliver says sadly, voice thick with tears, and he snatches up another tissue to blow his nose, dabbing at the tear tracks branching into silvery scars on his cheeks. "He said that I didn't seem fully committed to the relationship, which is such bullshit, and when I told him I loved him he laughed and said he wouldn't be dumping me if he could believe that. Asshole."

Crawling onto the bed next to him, ready to play the part of the supportive friend, Connor tentatively asks, "Would being my plus one to the memorial service for the professor I helped to cover up the murder of cheer you up?" Oliver looks up at him, one eyebrow raised as if to say  _are you_   ** _kidding_  ** _me?_  "Come on, Ollie, please. Michaela has Aiden, and Wes and Laurel are going together, and even Asher has some bimbo he's decided to try dating. I can't be the only one to show up alone."

"On one condition," Oliver says, and Connor nods eagerly. "Never call me Ollie again. It's Oliver or nothing." Grinning, Connor leaves Oliver to clean up the scene of the crying and goes into the kitchen to find the menu for the nearest pizza place and order something to drown Oliver's sorrows.

They're definitely the handsomest pair at the memorial service, despite Michaela's best efforts in her black lace, hair so intricately styled it can only have been done by a professional. Connor can't take his eyes off Oliver in his slim-fit black suit and grey silk shirt, and he smirks when he sees Aiden sneaking glances too. Wes and Laurel both look pretty, but their simple navy with white trim just isn't enough. Nor is Aiden's look enough to match, although he is genuinely upset in his grey, and his girlfriend is very pretty despite two inches of mousy roots creeping into her dyed red hair, her dress a purple so dark it's almost black.

Annalise takes to the platform at the front of the room, heaving with flowers and the most flattering pictures of Sam Keating that anyone could find, to make a speech about her husband. Catching Wes' eye across the aisle, Connor has to look down at his lap to stop himself from smiling. They've all shared a lot over the last month, baring themselves to each other and showing that they have nothing to hide - because they're all trying to hide the same thing together, and if they keep secrets it could be fatal.

Connor starts when Oliver's hand covers his, their fingers intertwining, and Oliver murmurs, "She really did love him, in some unique way." Turning to look at him, Connor feigns wide-eyed innocence and obliviousness, knowing it's safer to pretend he doesn't know. "Come  _on_ , you're a law student! Aren't you paid to be observant? Everyone knows he was having an affair with Lila Stangard, they're just too polite to say it. And her affair with that police officer was publicised more than the actual case verdict. Marriage is a fucked up institution."

"Are you saying that you don't want to get married?" Connor asks, trying to keep his voice low. He's painfully aware that odd behaviour could lead to suspicion on him, and they all need to be as inconspicuous as possible today.

"Now, I never said that," Oliver says, and he grins down at Connor, eyes bright behind his glasses. "I would love to spend the rest of my life being fucked up with the right person." His smile is like the beam of a lighthouse guiding Connor home, and he doesn't care if he gets smashed to pieces on the rocks below.

 _I am so fucking in love with you_.

**iv.**

It's the first time Connor has ever allowed Oliver into his apartment. And now he's sprawled out on the bed where Connor has had so many men, infusing the blankets with the scene of his cologne and the warmth that pours off him like a heater, glasses crooked from their run here through the rain. Setting the two mugs of tea down on the nightstand, Connor smiles at him and perches on the end of the bed, wondering if it would be awkward to curl up next to him. These days, every time he looks at Oliver he can hear the klaxon horn sounding, neon words flashing up in his mind:  _YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HIM_. _  
_

"Come on up," Oliver says, and puts an arm around Connor's waist, dragging him up the bed so they're lying side by side, looking into each other's eyes in quiet contentment. "What are you thinking about?"

"You," Connor replies without blinking, and Oliver stares at him, eyes wide, and perhaps holding some spark of hope. "I know that I did this terrible thing to you, Oliver. I know I left you when you wanted more. And I know I have crippling commitment issues after watching my parents cycle through marriages like they were newspapers and having my own first love ditch me before we were ever an official thing. But when I was losing it after Sam was murdered, when I couldn't cope and I just need someone, I came to you. And you took me in and comforted me and let me sleep on your couch for hours. That's got to mean something." Casting his gaze away from Oliver's, searching for something else in the room to look at, he finally quietly mumbles, "I think I'm falling in love with you."

"You  _think_?" Oliver asks, and there's a bitterness to his words that's a surprise to Connor. "Or you  _are_? I can't deal with parts of a relationship again, Connor. Either you love me, or you just want to get me into bed."

"I wouldn't be opposed to getting you into bed," Connor says with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, that confident, cocky man breaking through again. But Oliver stares him down, and finally there's nothing to say except, "I love you. It's not about thinking it's real or wanting something from you. It just is. I'm in love with you."

He starts to roll away, but Oliver's hand on his shoulder stops him, and he turns back to a smile that could light up a pitch-black room. "I'm in love with you too," he says softly, barely more than a tender breath, whispering like wings in the narrow space between them. "That's why Daniel broke up with me. Because my feelings for you grew instead of shrinking."

Connor just stares into Oliver's eyes, watching him pull off his own glasses, and opens his mouth with a long sigh when Oliver leans in for a kiss. It's the deepest they've shared, heady with feelings finally admitted aloud, and Connor clutches at the back of Oliver's shirt, pulling it free of his belt and tugging it up around his sharp shoulder blades to run his fingers down the smooth skin of his back, chasing the bones of his spine and pressing them like piano keys, pulling musical moans from Oliver's kiss-swollen lips.

"I love you," Oliver says again, kissing the ecstatic smile from Connor's lips, one hand straying up beneath his shirt to tease circles across his stomach with cool fingers, making him shiver. "I love you so much. Let's do it." Over the sound of their mingling heavy breathing, he glances up at Connor from beneath his lashes and asks, "Where are your condoms?"

"Can we...not?" Connor asks gently, and Oliver just stares down at him. "I got tested just after Sam. We all did, in case he'd had something and we'd caught it from touching his blood. And I haven't had sex since then."

"Losing your touch?" Oliver teases, and Connor prods him fondly in the ribs.

"Saving what's left of my virtue for love," he retorts, and Oliver smiles at him, leaning down to kiss him again, only breaking away to tug off their shirts and press them together, skin on sweat-slick skin. As Oliver's lips trail sucking kisses down his neck, Connor arches into his hot, slick mouth and whimpers, "How are we doing this tonight?"

"I don't care," Oliver says against his chest. "I just want to see your face." He wraps his lips around one of Connor's nipples, hand rising to play with the other, and Connor is rendered incoherent in record time. "Let me do you. We can take turns."

"Hot," Connor comments, and Oliver just smirks down at him, unzipping their pants and pushing them down.

"I'll show you hot," he says - almost  _growls_ , sending a searing heat shooting straight to Connor's cock - and kisses his way down Connor's sternum to his stomach and the waistband of his briefs, soft, sweet kisses that flutter in the pit of his belly and make his smile grow with love, eyes soft and mind melting like a marshmallow.

Connor has often been told that he's the king of rimming, and he's had it proved to him by dozens of men thrashing beneath his ministrations. But he knows he'll never be as good at fucking someone as Oliver is, and happily relinquishes that title - if he has his way, he'll be the only one who gets to experience this for the rest of their lives. The way Oliver kisses him until he's so excited that even the click of the cap on the lube makes his breath catch in his throat. That incredibly absorbed look in his eyes as he opens Connor up with gentle circles, making him whimper and moan and dig his nails into his sweat-slick back. The teasing glint in his eyes as he slides off his underwear, and Connor moans at the mere sight of Oliver's impressive cock. The way his hips move, like a dancer, sinuous and sensual and perfect, driving Connor up the bed. It's so good that he can't bring himself to care that his head keeps banging against the headboard, and when he comes it's with a crest of hot pleasure and a rasping gasp of, "Yes,  _yes_ , oh my God, love you, I love you, Oliver,  _fuck_." _  
_

White flashes behind his eyes, fading into black, and when he comes back to the real world Oliver is slumped on top of him, eyes unfocused but smile sweet. "I know," he says, smugness infused into every word. "I'm that good."

"Mmm, shut up," Connor says softly, and shoves Oliver off him. "Just let me shower quickly, and I'll be right back. We can order dinner."

He emerges perfectly groomed, wearing his softest sweater to try and tempt Oliver to snuggle with him over pizza, but Oliver is frozen in the living room, tears in his eyes and colour drained from his face. "What's wrong?" Connor asks, reaching for him.

And then the door bursts open, and a police officer marches in, face darkened by anger. Terrifying. "Connor Walsh?" he asks, and Connor nods, looking to Oliver for answers. "You're under arrest for the murder of Professor Sam Keating. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."

"Can I just say goodbye to my boyfriend?" Connor asks, and the officer relents. Wrapping his arms tightly around Oliver, Connor hisses, "Call Wes," before he's marched down the stairs in handcuffs and sat in the back of a police car.

It's funny, how quickly a night can go from laughter and love to sitting alone in a cold jail cell.

**v.**

Connor only has to spend one night in that lonely cell, because four people roll up to bail him out the next morning. He stumbles out into Michaela's anxious arms, and Wes is grinding his teeth as he lays a soothing hand on Connor's shoulder before confiding, "It was Rebecca. She freaked out when her parole officer asked her if she knew anything, and pointed to you before anyone else. And then they found trace amounts of Keating's DNA in your car from us transporting the body."

"We already spoke to Annalise," Laurel says, her face pale but seemingly composed. "She will, of course, represent you in court. You're sure to get off this charge with her. We told her the whole story, and she doesn't care that we were part of covering it up. It's  _Rebecca_ that killed him, and she needs to pay the price."

"We'll all testify for you," Asher pipes up. "I know the story now. You're a decent guy, Connor, and I don't want you to go to prison. I've heard they do horrible things to guys like you in there."

" _Asher_!" Michaela exclaims in fury, but Connor just waves her off. He's tired, and he just wants to go home and fall asleep in his own bed. Hopefully with Oliver's arms wrapped around him and all of this merely a dream.

But he can't, because they have to go straight to Annalise's house for a briefing of the case. His head is spinning and his eyes keep drooping, but they just place a cup of coffee in his hand and keep going. "The only problem is that the prosecution have already picked up on someone close to you," she says, and Connor casts suspicious eyes at the people surrounding him. "Oliver Dartmoore. I understand that was an ongoing flirtation."

Looking at her shrewd gaze, Connor thinks about Oliver saying that lawyers are paid to be observant, and realises how true that is. "It's become something of a relationship," he says. "I was with him when they arrested me last night."

"That's  _perfect_!" Laurel suddenly exclaims, and they all turn to look at her in shock. "Connor, you've already told us you went to him after you dropped us home that night! And you were there until about twelve that day, right?" He nods, and her smiles grows even wider. "All you have to do is persuade him to say that you were with him all night. It's the perfect alibi, because people will have seen you leaving but no one will have been awake at six to see you arrive. Then we all get on the stand and accuse Rebecca, and it'll be one against five of us."

Annalise gives Laurel a piercing look, and the silence stretches taut, like a threat liable to snap with a simple jerk. Then, she finally says, "Excellent idea, Ms. Castillo. Mr. Walsh, are you able to do that?"

"I think so," Connor says hesitantly, and Michaela immediately holds out her phone. Walking into the kitchen, away from the crowd, he dials Oliver's number and waits for the greeting before he says, "Hi, it's me. I'm okay."

"Connor!" The relief in Oliver's voice is palpable, and it makes him ache for the warmth of familiar arms around him. "I was so worried, they wouldn't tell me where you were. Is this your one phone call?"

"Laurel, Wes, Asher and Michaela bailed me out, we're at Professor Keating's house working out my case," Connor explains, and he once again hears Oliver sigh in relief. "Baby, I need you to do something for me. When you're called as a witness, I need you to say I was with you from around ten o'clock at night until noon the next day. It's the best alibi I can give them, and then I'll give my statement that it was Rebecca who killed him."

"Connor...that would mean lying under oath," Oliver says, and Connor just makes an affirming noise. "That's a criminal offence. I could be arrested for that!"

"The maximum sentence for that is seven years," Connor says. "I would wait for you. Oliver, if I'm found guilty, I'll be going down for life. Please don't let that happen."

Oliver sighs heavily, and all Connor can get from him is a long-suffering, "I'll think about it." Hanging up, he sets the phone down and curls himself up into a ball on the floor, sobbing.

The court case comes a week later, and his hands are shaking so badly before it comes that Laurel has to tie his tie for him. "Don't worry," she says gently. "It's going to be okay. Annalise has gotten people off with a lot more damning evidence than there is against you."

"I hope to God you're right," Connor says, and then allows his police escort to take him to the court house. Oliver is already there, hovering anxiously by the entrance, and Connor pulls away from the officer guarding him and pushes past the circling press to kiss him desperately, fear that this could be their last kiss gripping him tightly.

Annalise is indeed pulling out all the stops to persuade the jury to find him innocent. She's somehow persuaded Aiden to stand as his character witness, and he calls Connor 'An amazing man who is in no way capable of murder.' Some of the witnesses brought out by the prosecution give good statements, but they crumple in the cross-examination. All four of his co-workers give statements proclaiming his innocence and point the finger firmly at Rebecca.

Finally, the lawyer working for Rebecca says, "The prosecution calls Oliver Dartmoore to the stand." Connor's heart jumps as he watches Oliver swear in and take his seat, and the lawyer says, "Mr. Dartmoore, how long have you known the defendant?"

"Six months," Oliver answers.

"And what is the nature of your relationship to the defendant?"

"Personal." Connor can't help but smile at that, even more so when he hears Asher snicker then yelp when Laurel stamps on his foot.

"Define personal, Mr. Dartmoore."

"We were having sex for a while, but there was no commitment involved. Then circumstances changed."

There are a few more generic questions, then Annalise takes over, asking, "What knowledge do you have of Mr. Walsh's whereabouts on the night of Sam Keating's murder?"

Connor holds his breath and squeezes his eyes shut, nails biting into his own thighs, and the relief washes warm over him when Oliver answers, "He was with me. He arrived at my apartment around ten o'clock in the evening and didn't leave until noon the next day."

"And what was your relationship to Mr. Walsh at that time?"

Oliver meets Connor's eyes and smiles, and the audience coos as he answers, "We were in love. We still are."

The hour of waiting until the jury announce their verdict is the worst of Connor's life. Michaela repeatedly yanks his hand away from his mouth before he can chew his nails off, and when the jury stand up he's too nervous to hear them the first time. "We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty. Furthermore, we call for Rebecca Sutter to be brought to trail for the murder of Sam Keating."

Not guilty.

Not. Guilty.

_Not guilty!_

The crowd erupts, and Annalise quickly moves them all out. Oliver is already there, face alight with joy, and Connor throws himself into those arms, kissing him until he runs out of breath, ducking when Asher pops the cork out of a champagne bottle with a whoop. "I love you so much," he whispers to Oliver. "It was your testimony that got me off."

"It was pretty selfish," Oliver admits. "I couldn't stand the thought of not getting to see you every day for the rest of my life." Grinning, Connor kisses him again, until he hears his name being called and has to turn to speak with Annalise.

"Congratulations, Mr. Walsh," she says with a small smile. "I believed you all utterly when you told me it was Ms. Sutter who murdered Sam, and I promise I will do everything in my power to ensure she is punished for trying to bring you down too. But until then, Mr. Walsh, take my advice: hold on to that boyfriend of yours. It's not every day that you find a man who'll willingly put himself under legal threat to help you." Connor follows her gaze to Officer Nate Lahey, waiting, and pretends not to notice the way he falls into step beside her and wraps his hand around hers as they walk out of the building.

Returning to his friends and his boyfriend, Connor joins in the cheer when Aiden appears and says, "How about I sweep you all off for dinner? My treat." Pulling a credit card from his pocket, he smirks and says, "Well, my father's treat."

As they all leave, a chattering crowd, Asher falls back next to Connor, brow furrowed in a perplexed frown as he asks, "Are you in love with that IT guy?" When Connor nods, Asher looks more confused and says, "But you told me you didn't do boyfriends."

"Look, Asher, when you meet the right person, they'll help you to overcome your commitment issues and become the best person you can be," Connor says, and speeds up to walk next to Oliver, smiling lovingly at him and squeezing his hand.

Dinner is a long affair, and afterwards they go back to Oliver's apartment to make lazy love until they fall asleep kissing, soft and slow. In the morning, they curl up together on the couch to eat pancake and complete the crossword, kissing each time they correctly complete a clue. Oliver calls his mother and arranges for the two of them to meet for brunch. Connor even uses Oliver's laptop to change his Facebook status to  **In a relationship with Oliver Dartmoore**.

And it's everything he never wanted. And everything he needed. Everything he'll have every day for the rest of his life.


End file.
